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The Land "Where the Good 
Dreams Gro^ 

A Dance Fantasy 

SPEAKING CHARACTERS 

The Poet with his sack of dreams 
Babette, the mountaineer's daughter 
Cedric, the mountain simpleton 
The Sand Man 

DANCERS 
Solo Dancers: 
Twilight 
Evening Star 
Poppy Lady 
Dawn 

Chorus Dancers: 
Falling Leaves 
Evening Shadows 
Fireflies 
Moonbeams 
Dream-maidens 
The Asphodel Sprites 
Little Bad Dreams 
The Trolls 

The Little Mince Pie Dreams 
The Live Bunnies 

The Columbines and the Mountain Zephyrs 
The Sunbeams 



Copyright, February, 1921 
By Mrs. L. A. Miller, Colorado Springs. 
All rights reserved — For permission to reproduce address the author. 



SYNOPSIS 
PAET ONE — The Poet, The Fool and the 'Child. 

Babette, the mountaineer's daughter, encounters the Poet with 
his pack of dreams upon his back, and is permitted to peep at 
the fragile winged things he carries there. The poet goes 
grumbling good-naturedly toward home and the work-a-day 
world that awaits him. Cedric, the mountain simpleton, who 
believes it his daily task to put the birds to bed and waken 
them at dawn, meets Babette and tells her that if she dares 
to tarry till the evening shadows gather and follow the Sand 
Man upon his nightly round she may discover the land where 
the good dreams grow. 

Babette lingers till Twilight comes and deepens into night. 
She sees the Sand-Man and follows him stealthily. 

INTERLUDE— The "Sleepy Sheep Song." 

The Sand-Man leads the sleepy children to their beds, count- 
ing the sheep jump over the fence as they go. Babette fol- 
lows. 

PART TWO — The Land Where the Good Dreams 
Grow. 

Outside the City of Sleep with its doors where the good and 
bad dreams find egress, Babette sinks to sleep. The Poet, 
reading from his book, passes through the door of the good 
dreams. The Poppy Lady enters, notes the sleeping child 
and compassionately bars the ivory door through which the 
Bad Dreams come, but Cedric slips in and mischievously sets 
it ajar. The Bad Dreams haunt the sleeping child until the 
Poppy Lady discovers her plight and soothes her with happy 
visions from the low dark door. As dawn approaches the 
dreams all retire and the sun awakens Babette. 

The Poet finds her with compassion but she exults in the 
thought that now she, too, has dreams that may find wings 
and fly. Cedric catching her exultation wakens his birds to 
joyous song. 



©CI.D 5 72 12 



The Land "Where the Good 
Dreams Gro^ 

A Dance FantasY 

PART ONE 

Scene 1 — (Pleasant wooded glade with mountains in back- 
ground. Late afternoon. FroTn trail at rear right the 
POET enters; he is old and shabby and carries a pack 
on his shoulders. As he reaches the level ground he 
pauses, wipes his brow and shifts the pack to the other 
shoulder, he is whistling very softly and cheerily.) 

Poet: 

Another golden day I've spent right royally, 
I've held its hours up and watched them fall 
Without regret in Time's old hour-glass. 
Another toasted day Janet will cry — 
Ho hum, well after all 'tis but the wasted days 
That count for aught in my life's calendar! 

{He looks regretfully back at the mountains luhere the sun's 
last glow still lingers and sings:) 

O, 'tis sweet to live and sweet to love, 
And sweet to follow the little road. 
With heart as light as the day is bright. 
And back without a load; 
To loaf and dream and sit in the sun. 
And think of your blessings every one. 
The love that shines in a thousand ways 
Through all the length of your gypsy days. 

(Sits down wearily, rests his pack carefully beside him and 
watches dreamily the dance of the FALLING LEAVES.) 

Falling Leaves — Chorus dancers in brown draperies with 
gleams of yellow and crimson in the inner draperies and 



scarfs. The dance is tripping, floating, rustling — the 
melancholy of the brown draperies and softy dreamy 
movements relieved by touches of crimson and gold ex- 
pressing sheer happiness. 

(As the dancers retire BABETTE, the mottntaineej^'s daugh- 
ter runs in from the left. She is breathless, barefooted, bare- 
headed and simply clad. Graceful, dark-haired dreamy 
child.) 

Babette: (Softly speaking to herself) 

I thought I heard the mysterious "Old Man of the Moun- 
tains" here somewhere. I v/onder where he's been today and 
what he carries in that sack? 

Poet: 

How now, Babette, like all your sex you scent a secret 
from afar. And what will Babette give the "Old Man of 
the Mountains" for a peep into his pack? 

Babette: (Drawing back startled and abashed) 

I beg your pardon, sir, I must have spoken all my for- 
ward thought aloud, but vdio has told you of my name? 

Poet: (Kindly) 

There's something in these solitudes that whets 

The senses of a man to keener edge. 

And not a secret wish that's whispered here 

But may find wings and fly — Believest that, Babette? 

Babette : 

You speak so strangely, half you frighten me! 
For / hear naught within the mountains here 
Naught save the ringing blows of father's axe, 
Or the shrill whining sound of whetted scythe, 
And mother's echoing call from out the cottage door. 

(She pouts) 

I wish that I co^ild hear see and hear as thou! 



POET: (Drawing her gently down beside him) 

A wiser man than I hath said, my child, 
That they may only learn to see who look 
Through falling tears, that they alone may hear 
Whose ears are deaf to sound of worldly strife — 
But that's old doctrine for a child like you. 

(Babette all unheeding his philosophy looks curiotisly at the 
poet's pack) 

What do your neighbors say of me, my dear, and of my pack? 

Babette : (With all a child's importance at divulging a bit of 
gossip) 

Some say 'tis simple, roots and herbs to make rare cordials 

and sweet-smelling balms for wounds, and that you make a 

deal of money from the things we count as worthless; others 

say you seek for gold and carry bits of rock to test in secrecy, 

and then they shake their heads and laugh — 

Tell me, do you get much money for the contents of your 

pack? 

Poet: 

A pack like mine could not be bought with gold, my child. 

Babette: (Leaning forward eagerly) 
May I lift it, is it so heavy then? 

Poet: (Sadly) 

Sometimes it is, and makes my shoulder sore, 
But that is when 'tis emptiest! 

Babette: (Petulantly) 

You're teasing me with joking words — 

I have a mind to tell you what old Rachel said — 

'Twas not polite, I did not think to tell. 



Poet: 



Go on, Babette, and tell the whole, 
Remember truth hath not a hiding-place 
From me within these mountain fastnesses. 



Babette : 

She said the mountains, then, had robbed you of your 
wits, that like poor Cedric you did run all day after the phan- 
toms of your own disordered brain — 

Poet : ( Chuckling ) 

Go on, Babette, Dame Rachel spoke more shrewdly 
than she knew. 

Babette: (In awestruck whisper) 

She said she doubted not that for some past misdeed 
A pack of sins forever you must bear! 

Poet: 

pious Rachel, how Janet would relish her philoso- 

phy! 

Babette : 

Janet, who is she? 

Poet: 

She's just a virtuous woman who has taken o'er 
The task of keeping me in paths of industry. 

Babette: {Impatiently) 

But, the pack, is it heavy, today? 

Poet: {Patting it tenderly) 

'Tis very light, I've had a most profitable day! 

Babette : ( Coaxingly ) 
Let me see! 

Poet: 

1 doubt if you can see the garnered treasures 
Of my gypsy hours — they're thin as gossamer. 

{He opens the pack just a little way and Babette peeps 
eagerly ) 

Babette : 

But some of them have wings! 



Poet: (Proudly, as he closes pack) 

0, you should see them when they fly! 

(He looks about and rises hastily) 

I'm late again, O what a drubbing I will get. 

The supper waits, and there's the evening chores — 

The cow and hens will be disconsolate. 

And Janet — she will be a stony monument 

Of grief — Hasten Babette, the night falls soon. 

The evening shadows must not find you here. 

(He hastens aivay and Babette looks after him wistfully) 

Babette: (Calls after him) 

Will she not smile to see the pretty things 
You bring, and bid you show her how they fly? 

Poet: 

She'll never see them, for I keep them hid. 

(As he goes off stage he sings, merrily once more the 

vagrant's song.) 

*^ 
O, somebody's sad, and somebody's mad, 
And somebody else doesn't care: 
But why shovild we grieve when joy's to be had 
Out on the little road anywhere. 
No time to worry, no time to fret. 
The sun is flushing the Western ways. 
And we'll take to the road till the sun has set, 
These glorious gypsy days. 

(Babette stands ivatching eagerly, wistfully, the glow of sun- 
set fades and shadows lengthen.) 

Scene 2 — (As before — Babette leans against a boulder and 
looks wistfully after the poet, strains of his song eome echo- 
ing back.) 

Enter CEDRIC, the mountain simpleton. He is tall, thin and 
uncouth. He is dressed in rough shepherd costume and wears 



a cap with a red feather set jauntily upon his head. He is 
very intent upon some curious noises he is producing from an 
improvised flute. As he blows upon this hollow stalk sleepy 
birds twitters are heard all about. He blows on while the 
orchestra plays soft strains of bird-song. 

He sees Babette. 

CedriC: {Gruffly) 

You'd best be off — I see you there spying upon Cedric 
at his work! 

Babette : (Laughing) 

Your work, Cedric, Of all the men upon the mountain 
here you do the least. 

Cedric: That's parson's tale — he scolds at Mother, bids her 

see that I am put to tasks from morn till night. 

{Looks craftily about) 

They do not know that Cedric's work of all men's hereabout 

is mightiest and could least be spared. don't you wish you 

knew what Cedric does at evening when he steals away, and 

in the early dawn while others snore? 

Babette : 

Tell me, Cedric. 

Cedric : 

You'll babble it, girls always do. 

Babette : ( Crossly) 

The "Old Man of the Mountains" did not fear to trust 
a girl, he let me peep into his pack. 

Cedric : 

That's naught — a sack of dreams! 

Babette : 

But they were beautiful, and some will fly! 

Cedric : {Swelling up proudly) 
Cedric makes things fly. 



{Distrustfidly) ' 

You'll tell. 

Babette : 

Cross my heart and hope to die! 

CedriC: {Slyly) 

'Tis Cedrlc puts the birds to bed! 
They wait for him at evening-time 
And in the morning he must go 
So early to the forest or they sleep 
Too late. He makes them sing and fly. 

Now I must hurry or the birds will be so cross, tis past 

their time. 
And you must run, this is no place for girls when night 

draws on. 

Babette : 

If I could only find one dream like his before I go! 

CedriO: {Craftily) 

Cedric knows where the good dreams grow. 

Babette : 

0, tell me where. 

Cedric : 

You are a baby-girl, you'd blubber at the dark! 

Babette : 

I'm not a baby-girl and I am not afraid. 

Cedric: {Grasping her arm and whispering cautiously) 

Just wait here till the Sand-Man comes, you must fol- 
low till his bag is em^pty, then he goes home. Cedric goes 
sometimes and see the gates of Dreamland open wide. 
Good-bye, little girl, you'll be afraid! 

{Cedric goes out playing once more upon his flute — Again 
the strains of sleepy bird-songs are heard, they groiv fainter 
and fainter then die away. Babette sinks down upon the 
knoll to wait. The shadows deepen.) 



Enter TWILIGHT— Solo dancer 

The Twilight is a beggar- maid, 

In tattered cloak and old, 
Who comes to town when the day is done. 

Creeping along as one afraid. 
She has stuck a rose in her gypsy hair, 

A rose that the day let fall, 
We had not known she was so fair. 

So lithesome and so tall. 

(Descriptive lines) 

Twilight is followed by a chorus of Evening Shadows. 

(Evening Shadows wear flowing draperies of soft gray ivith 
inner lining of amethyst, as they drift out darkness deepens.) 

(Babette speaks softly to herself.) 

Babette : 

I am not afraid, but it is lonely here, 
How pleasantly the candle even now 
Falls on the table where they wait for me! 
But something moves within the shadows there 
I will be still and listen. 

(A single FIREFLY darts in and out, then another, a third, 
and finally a whole chorus, in the Dance of the Fireflies.) 

(The fireflies are dressed to fit into the surroundings as 
closely as possible, they carry small flash-lights by which 
their movements are distinguished — the stage is quite dark 
noiv. Babette crouches in Iter corner.) 

Enter EVENING STAR— Solo Dancer 

The Evening Star's a timid child. 

Who flutters coyly to her place, 
And looks about uncertainly 

Yet with a winsome grace. 

(Descriptive lines for interpretation of Evening Star.) 
(Evening Star is all in pale gold — the stage brightens with 



her coming. Her dance expresses coyness, uncertainty, ad- 
vance and retreat — note the trembling advent of the evening 
star.) 

Babette: {Springs up joyfully) 

Why that's the same white star that nods and peeps 
At me each night when on the steps till late I sit 
To wonder at the glittering sky. I need not fear 
Beneath its cheerful friendly light. 

Star-Light, Star-Bright, 
First star I've seen tonight, 
Wish I could 
Wish I might 
Find the dreams 
I seek tonight. 

Evening Star is followed by a chorus of Moonbeams. 
Dance of the Moonbeams: 

{The Moonbeams are all in ivhite or luhite and silver, they 
carry long scarfs which they use in their dance — the stage has 
now the silvery whiteness of moonlight upon it.) 

{Approach SAND MAN with his old brown bag. He is 
dressed in brown and moves with many strange and grotes- 
que contwtions. Babette watches and follows him stealthily 
from stage.) 

Scene 3 — Interlude 

{Interior — Steps at right leading to upper chambers. Enter 
SAND MAN from left dancing grotesquely, he is walking 
backward and flinging sand from his bag. Following him 
(fre four and twenty tiny children, yawning, stumbling and 
rubbing their eyes. The children are all in one-piece sleep- 
ing-garments and carry a candle {unlighted) in one hand 
and a favorite toy in the other. As they stumble sleepily 
along they drone out the *" Sleepy Sheep Song.") 

*Used by courtesy of Mrs. G. B. McFall of Denver. 



Sand Man: 

On the way to Dreamland 

See the children go, 
Four and twenty candles 
Twinkling in a row; 
Dancing eyes grow dreamy 
As they climb the stair, 
Fancies flit like fairies 

Round them everywhere. 

First Child: 

One big sheep — 
Second Child: 

Two big sheep — 
Third Child: 

Three big sheep — 
Fourth Child: 

And one poor litt-le la-a-mb! 
All: 

It said Maa-a, Maa-a 

It said Baa, ba-a 

One poor little lamb! 

Then down the hill the go. 

So, 

So, 

So, (Pantomine of sheep going over fence) 

In a row, 

See them go 

Over the fence they go! 

First Child: 

One big sheep — « 

Second Child 

And two big sheep — 
Third Child 

And three big sheep — 
Fourth Child 

And one poor little lamb! 



{They disappear up stairs singing very slowly and sleepily.) 
(Babette follows stealthily) 

PART TWO 

THE LAND WHERE THE GOOD DREAMS GROW. 

{Outside the City of Sleep. In background a city — at one 
side is a lofty white entrance, embowered ivith roses; at the 
other, a loiv dark door. A soft twilight floods the stage.) 

{Enter POET, dressed as before, his pack upon his shoulders 
and a small book in his hand.) 

Poet: 

This should be the spot. 
{He reads) 

"Two gates are there of sleep, whereof the one is said to 
be of horn by which an easy egress is given to true visions; 
the other, shining, wrought of ivory; but through it the in- 
fernal gods send up false dreams." * 

Enter POPPY LADY — Solo Dancer — The Bringer of 

Dreams. 

{She is followed by a chorus of her Dream-Maidens, bright 
iridescent spirits with festoons of poppies.) 

O, Lady of the Poppies, soft-creeping 

Through the dim night 

In your mole-skin shoon, 
Where the pale searching beams 

Of the wan crescent moon 
Fall on mortals a-sleeping, 

Scatter bright dreams! 

{Descriptive lines.) 

{They dance and retire. The Poppy Lady looks carefully to 
the fastening of the ivory door and slips away.) 

*From Virgil's Aeneid. 



Poet: (Looking up from his book which he has been studying 
carefully) 

"Two gates stand guard o'er the City of Sleep, 

Two angels their watch forever keep 

To sort out the false and the true; 

And dreams come trooping their portals through, 

They come by twos, and they come by threes, 

The souls of mortals to bless or to tease." 

Here are the gates, alright, old Virgil knew 
The ground. No doubt he often sought escape 
As I tonight — but how shall I find entrance? 
(He reads further) 

"The gate is of tough and fibrous horn 

Where dreams of love and truth are born; 

Thoughts too lofty for mortal ken 

Are wafted down to sleeping men 

From the golden meadows of asphodel 

Where only the the pure and the true may dwell." 

{As the Poet reads the dark door opens slowly and the Good 
Dreams in draperies of soft blue tvith garlands of asphodel 
(Narcissus or Daffodil) steal forth and dance softly, drcnmi- 
ly. The Poet reads on unheeding but as they go back through 
the dark doorway he follows them and the door closes behind 
him.) 

(Enter Sand Man in haste, as if belated. He turns his emp- 
ty sack upside dotvn, shakes it, then skips fantastically as if 
content with a night's work well done. As he slips through 
the dark door Baeette enters, limping, stumbling, weary 
with her long chase. !She seeks to follow tlie Sand Man into 
the City of Sleep but falls exhausted outside the door. She 
sleeps.) 

(Enter Cedric very cautiously, he sees Babette and notes 
with mischievous delight that she has fallen asleep outside 
the City of Dreams. He undoes the bars of the ivory door, 
chuckles and capers witJi malicious glee, then hastens away.) 



The Coming of the Bad Dreams — Strange terrifying shad- 
ows flit in and out, mocking, grimacing shapes, the "Seein' 
things at night" sort of dreams. 

The Dance of the Trolls : The mischievous little men of the 
mountain join in grotesque dance; they approach the sleep- 
er, pull her curls and tickle her nose with long spears of 
grass. She sneezes violently. Chuckling with glee they 
steal away. 

The Little Mince-Pie Dreams: Tiny roly-poly children 
'made up quaintly to suggest great mince-pies. As they 
caper about Babette tosses restlessly in her sleep and 
moans. 

(Enter Poppy- Lady — She looks in consternation at the open 
ivory door and the restless sleeping child. She again fast- 
ens the bars. Then she looks compassionately at the little 
sleeper and sets the dark door slightly ajar.) 

Poppy-Lady repeats a few measures of her solo dance then 
retires smiling with her finger upon her lips. 

The Coming of the Good Dreams: 

The Columbine and the Mountain Zephyr: A chorus of 
nodding, swaying columbines follows the Mountain 
Zephyr in its play. The Mountain Zephyr iiS all in soft 
green draperies and weaves in and out of the lavender and 
white of the columbines. 

The Dance of the Cotton-Flannel Bunnies: (A soft 
scratching and squeaking is heard at the door-way, then a 
soft head is thrust through — In hop the Nursery Bunnies. 
Babette smiles as they jump about her in friendly fashion.) 

(The light brightens a bit and the orchestra suggests the 
sounds of daum. In great haste and confusion the live 
bunnies hop through the dark door and it closes softly be- 
hind them. Babette sleeps quietly.) 



Enter Dawn — Solo Dancer. 

(Dawn wears floating draperies of pearly gray with glimp- 
ses of rose, she suggest a great dusky rose with unfolding 
petals of palest pink and a heart of gold. The light changes 
as she dances, flushing with opal tints. Dawn is followed 
by a single Sunbeam, then another, then a host of bright 
yellow sprites. The sounds of happy awakening life grow 
louder.) 

Dance of the Sunbeams 

{During this dance Babette rises upon her elbow, smiles at 
the morning light.) 

(Enter Cedric puffing valiantly upon his hollow reed, the 
birds give happy awakening chirps in answer. Dawn fades 
away. The Sunbeams group themselves at sides of stage.) 

Babette (Springing up and looking saucily at Cedric) 
I was not afraid. 

Cedric (Slotvly with amazed curiotisity) 
You were not afraid! 

(From out the dark doorway the Poet comes, his pack upon 
his shoulder and book in hand. He starts in surprise at sight 
of Babette.) 

(Cedric spys a wounded bird at side of stage, he bends over 
it muttering compassionately, then picks it up tenderly and 
holds it to his breast.) 

Poet: 

Poor child! So young a pilgrim at the gate of dreams! 

Babette: (Looking back wistfully and reaching out her 
arms) 
Oh, they were beautiful! 

Poet: (Sadly, taking her hand) 

And now like me forever you must bear 
A pack of dreams upon your back — 
Forever you must bear the bitter jibe 



Of those who only know the world they see 
And touch — 

Babejtte {Joyously) 

— But dreams are real, more real than all 

This fleeting world we see and touch, 

For dreams shall live when hearts of men are dust! 

{Cedric, who has been muttering and crooning to the wounded 
bird looks up and joins them.) 

Cedrio: 

Things with wings will die — 

Babette (Raising her arms in exultation) 
But some will live, 
And grow — 
And learn to fly! 

Cedric (Wistfully) , putting his flute to his lips) 
Cedric can make them fly! 

(As the curtain falls, the Poet, Babette and Cedric stand 
hand in hand. Strains of triumphant bird-song are 
hea/rd.) 



Produced 1921 by the Broadmooi- Art Academy. Dancers and Players 
under the direction of Mrs. Milone. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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